


The Bottom Series: Jack

by Perfica



Series: The Bottom Series [2]
Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: 1000-3000 words, Drama, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-06
Updated: 2007-01-06
Packaged: 2017-10-08 20:01:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/79015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Perfica/pseuds/Perfica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe he was spending too much time thinking about things that couldn't be changed in the immediate future and needed to give himself a break.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bottom Series: Jack

After Caldwell had beamed down and begrudgingly apologised for not quickly acquiescing to his requests, Jack had nodded and let him go without giving him too much grief. Caldwell was a good guy - a bit stiff and a bit too eager to follow procedure, but someone to rely on nevertheless.

Woolsey thanked anyone and everyone who happened to be standing next to him, then had taken Elizabeth by the elbow and shuffled off towards her office, talking about the IOC, the Replicators and the refurbishment of Atlantis. Jack was glad to see the back of him. And her. Not because he didn't like them; it was just that Richard Woolsey was an acquired taste and Jack had had his fill. And Elizabeth...

_Ix-nay on the ug-hay_.

Maybe he was getting old. And cranky. Maybe he'd been old and cranky for a while and hadn't known it, hadn't had anything else to compare the feelings to for too long, had forgotten what it felt like to be proud of a job well-done. A job that had cosmic meaning and consequences that stretched past his own constrained existence.

Maybe he was spending too much time thinking about things that couldn't be changed in the immediate future and needed to give himself a break. Now that the strife in Atlantis had settled down, he could actually start to feel pretty good about life and dammit, those feelings deserved exploring.

Sheppard stood looking over the gate, his posture relaxed in a way that signified a mixture of exhaustion and relief.

"So, it appears that you refused to follow orders," Jack said, leaning next to him.

"Yes, sir," Sheppard replied, straightening his spine.

"Again."

Sheppard swallowed and raised his head fractionally. "Yes, sir."

Jack clapped him on the back. "Good job. And I don't say that to everyone who disregards my orders, standing or not."

"Sir, I - that is, we - "

"We had no choice, General," McKay interrupted, pushing himself into the private conversation. "I'm sure you would have done the same thing in our situation. In fact, I _know_ you would have done the same thing in our situation."

"Read a few SG-1 reports, McKay?" Jack asked, rubbing his forehead. He could feel a headache starting behind his left eyebrow.

"All of them," McKay replied smugly, crossing his arms over his chest. "And I must say, they make for interesting reading. Particularly the ones that involved attractive females from different planets. It would seem that you and Sheppard have more in common than you'd think."

"McKay," Sheppard said, scowling.

"McKay," Jack warned at the same time.

McKay took a hasty step back, glancing down at his bare wrist. "Oh, will you look at the time? I really have to - anyway, lovely to see you again, General. Give my regards to SG-1, especially Samantha. Give her my _warmest_ regards. I'm sure she'll - "

"Rodney!" Sheppard yelled.

"Oh relax, Colonel. You know you'll always be first in my hea - Uh, never mind. 'Bye!"

They watched as Rodney raced over to a transporter, smack the palm of his hand against the wall and disappear in a flash.

"He's crazier than a loon," Jack mused.

Sheppard sighed. "Yes, sir."

"Most intelligent people are. Lucky for us, he's on our side." Jack clapped his hands together. "So, what's a guy gotta do to get a shower and some chow around here?"

~~~

Jack spent the trip back on the Daedalus writing his report, explaining things patiently to Woolsey and trying to bait Hermiod. Extended time in the engine room proved that the Asgard race weren't as homogenous as he'd previously thought; Thor was a regular laugh-a-minute compared to the distant, suspicious Hermiod.

Once they'd returned to Earth, time seemed to speed up. A two-hour debriefing with Hank, a quick change into his third pair of borrowed BDUs, a nostalgic meal of meatloaf in the mess and Jack was back in the air. He and Woolsey were the only passengers on the direct flight to Washington. Jack hadn't asked, but Hank let slip that SG-1 were on stand-down for seventy-two hours; something about needing personal time after a series of fairly heavy missions. Jack didn't comment - he'd read about it in their reports soon enough.

Through the window, Colorado at night looked like a patchwork quilt - great blocks of lights shining in the residential areas interspersed with solid blackness signifying military installations and magnificent mountains. In all the years he'd lived there, he'd never had the time to appreciate what it looked like from the sky.

When he and Woolsey were being driven to the airfield, Jack had resisted the temptation to order the airman driving them to cruise past his old house. He'd done that once before - the first time he'd found a reason to visit SG-1, and had noted a couple that only looked a few years younger than him getting into a large family car. Two teenage boys and a girl looked like they were fighting over who would sit where in the back seat. The front yard was unchanged although his front door had been painted blue. Who took the stain off a nice wooden door and painted it blue?

_Their_ front door.

"General O'Neill?" Woolsey whispered from across the aisle.

Jack closed his eyes and fell asleep with his forehead against the window.

~~~

He was back in his office - which was just as clean and polished as it had been when he'd left - by early morning. His aide took the bag from his hand, gave him a steaming cup of fresh coffee and subtly nudged him towards the stack of files on his desk awaiting his signature.

He signed until his hand cramped, put in a call to the President that was twenty percent business and eighty percent catching up and emailed a copy of his report on Atlantis to his aide to be disseminated to the proper departments. Stomach grumbling, he realised it was past noon. He stood up, stretching his back and yawning widely.

"Betty!"

"Yes, General?"

"I'm going home. Taking the weekend off. If anything important happens, contact the President. If anything unimportant happens, contact General Stockard."

"Yes, sir," Betty said, smiling, pen poised over notepad. "Is there anything else you'd like me to do before you get going?"

Jack slipped his wallet and his car keys into his pocket. "Nah. Have an early day. See you Monday."

"Thank you, General. Enjoy your weekend."

Jack nodded. Tired as he was, he walked with a spring in his step. The weekend. Two days. Forty-eight whole hours. He planned on putting on a pair of sweats and becoming one with his couch and his remote.

~~~

Driving with the windows down refreshed him, but not enough to stop for grocery shopping. Take-out it was, then.

Unlocking the door, turning off the alarm, kicking off his shoes - these things he did mechanically. There was still enough light shining between half-opened blinds to see the hallway and kitchen were empty, but something felt off.

He silently opened a drawer and took out a loaded gun. Moving stealthily down the hall, he flattened his back against the wall and used the tips of his fingers to push the door open.

Daniel was in his bed, resting comfortably against a mound of pillows, flicking through a magazine.

"Hey, Jack," Daniel said, briefly looking up and quirking his eyebrows at the gun pointed toward him.

"Daniel?"

"Yes, it's really me. Did you bring anything home to eat? Your fridge is empty and I'm starving." He closed the magazine with a frown. "Seriously, stop pointing that gun at me."

"Daniel," Jack repeated, flicking the safety on and resting the gun on the dresser. "What - ?"

"What am I doing here?" Daniel asked, pushing his glasses up his nose. He looked uncomfortable but in true Daniel style, was attempting to brave it out.

Jack took in the flushed face, the pile of clothes folded neatly on top of an open bag, the magazine tightly curled in Daniel's hand, the sliver of boxer shorts peeking out from under the blankets. "What do you want to eat?"

~~~

Half an hour later they were sitting in boxer shorts, containers of Chinese food, chopsticks, and napkins strewn on top of the covers. The TV played quietly in the background while Jack told Daniel of what had happened on Atlantis. Daniel nodded and frowned and hummed at the right times, but Jack suspected his mind was on other things. Probably SG-1 things. The Orii and translations and things Jack didn't know about firsthand anymore.

When Jack returned to the bedroom with two more bottles of beer, Daniel had cleared the bed of their dinner, turned off the TV and the lights and opened the windows. Dusk was quiet this high up, the air sweet and still.

Daniel lay on his back with his hands tucked under his head, staring up at the ceiling. Jack carefully unhooked the glasses from behind his ears, put them on the nightstand then lay next to him, head resting on his hands in unconscious mimicry.

"So, I'm thinking of sending Carter to Atlantis," Jack said to break the silence.

Daniel made an inquisitive noise.

"She'll like it there. Plenty of... stuff. To look at. And experiment on. With. Plus, I think McKay really needs to get laid."

From the corner of his eye, Jack could see a small grin appear on Daniel's face.

"I'm serious. The guy's uptight."

"You know I've wanted to be assigned to Atlantis since we found it."

"Yeah, but McKay," Jack said, turning on his side.

Daniel rolled over to face him. "Ask not what your country can do for you..."

"Funny," Jack said, trying to hold back a smile as Daniel laughed at him.

Eventually, the laughter and the smiles fell away. Jack's hand rested on the back of Daniel's neck. He tightened his grip, shaking the beloved head gently but firmly. "What am I going to do with you?" he whispered.

Daniel leaned in and kissed him; delicately, thoroughly. Jack's hand slid from his neck to his shoulder, pulling him closer. He sighed into the kiss - Daniel was a familiar, welcome taste, and the feelings he triggered in Jack didn't scare him anymore. Exasperated him, sure. Infuriated him, yes, on occasion. But those feelings had been around for as long as he'd known Daniel, and now they were tied in with _home_ and _pleasure_ and _belonging_.

Daniel pushed himself up and over, blanketing Jack's body with his solid strength. Jack parted his thighs and opened his mouth to the insistent sweet pressure of hips and tongue. His hands traversed the smooth skin of Daniel's back, curled over his ass, pulled him in tighter. Daniel groaned and his lips slowed, moved, travelled wetly down Jack's neck and onto his shoulder.

A burst of heat rushed up Jack's spine. He pushed Daniel to the side and removed their shorts with hurried tugs. Daniel's hips arched up and his knees spread wide, eyes closed as he panted.

Jack leant down and took his cock in his mouth, one quick slide down until his mouth was full to overflowing. He rested, tongue playing gently against the shaft while Daniel tugged at his shoulders.

"Please, Jack."

Jack sucked on the way back up, fingers fondling warm, full balls. He threaded his fingers through Daniel's pubic hair as he slid back down, then up again, body moving in mindless pleasure.

"Jack," Daniel sighed, one arm outstretched, digging through the bedside drawer. "Stop. Wait."

"Getting mighty bossy in your old age."

Daniel smiled and pushed Jack onto his back. "Let's just say I'm getting opinionated."

Jack got comfortable, pulling a pillow under his head, watching Daniel watch his biceps curl and flex with the action. He flexed them again, on purpose, just to make Daniel laugh.

"Show-off," Daniel said. He rested his head on Jack's hip and stroking lightly over his perineum.

"Oh, so it's like that, is it?" Jack asked, planting his feet on the mattress.

Daniel looked up at him, blue eyes uncompromising and direct. "Yes. It's like that. Is that okay?"

"Sure," Jack said, brushing a hand over Daniel's head. "Anything you want."

"What you want too, Jack," Daniel said, putting his mouth to better use as he lipped up and down Jack's shaft.

Jack exhaled and felt his body sink deeper into the mattress. Daniel was right, and wasn't he about most things? It was what Jack wanted - to be grounded, to be taken, to be exquisitely drawn apart and put back together again just as tenderly.

It wasn't the first time circumstances had conspired to create an almost manic desire for one to claim the other, but he had been on the other side of this scenario too many times not to know that what Daniel did, he did for both their sakes.

Deconstructed, laid bare, stripped of his finery, Jack wanted Daniel.

Seconds, minutes, hours later, Daniel was poised above him, strong shoulders backlit by the rising moon, big hands cupping his thighs. "Okay?"

"Sure, Daniel," Jack said, leaning up for a kiss. "Okay."

"Love you, Jack," Daniel said as he pushed in slowly.

He always said that, every time he was on top. He didn't say it when Jack was the one sliding into him, nor during any of their other encounters.

Jack had spent a lot of time analysing why he said it when he did, and decided it was a placemark, a point of reference in time for Daniel to be as true and as honest and as open as Jack allowed himself to be.

Jack didn't say it often, but when he did, it was at random moments. Getting Daniel a towel when he'd forgotten to take one into the bathroom for a shower, accepting a beer during a game, grumbling and taking back stolen covers in the middle of the night. Brushing his teeth. On one memorable occasion, just before he bit into a doughnut in the commissary.

"Daniel," he said, as much to revel in the ability to say the name out loud and without fear as to express his pleasure. "Daniel. _Daniel_."

"It's me, Jack," Daniel replied, eyes half-closed in bliss as he stroked in and out of Jack's body. "I'm here. Fuck...I'm here. It's me."

"Daniel," Jack said, and tripped into the light.

~~~

"I've been thinking," Daniel said, later. His head rested on Jack's chest. "I'm going to retire after the Orii are defeated."

Jack's hand stilled in Daniel's hair. "Retire?"

"Retire. The SGC have enough anthropologists on staff now and the linguistic department is full of talent - what do they want with an old guy like me?"

"Not so old," Jack scowled, clutching the hand Daniel had resting on his sternum. "If you're old, I'm ancient."

"I'm going to write a book," Daniel said, enthusiasm clear even though his voice was tired. "About everything we've done, everything we've seen. I know I won't be able to publish for a long time, but it's important that we leave behind clear records. And I'm tired of fighting, Jack. The Goa'uld, the Replicators, now the Orii - enough's enough."

Jack twisted his head and kissed Daniel on the forehead. "I'm tired of fighting, too."

Daniel yawned and sucked briefly on Jack's neck, getting comfortable. He'd fall asleep soon.

"I've got plans too, ya know," Jack said, just as he, too, was on the cusp of sleep.

"Yeah?" Daniel asked.

"Yep. When I retire, I'm going to move to the cabin permanently."

"And fish. Constantly. Incessantly. With extreme prejudice."

"Not just fishing. Pottery. Going to make me some pots."

"Pots?" Daniel asked, struggling to raise himself up onto one elbow. "You're going to make pots. You, a general of the United States Air Force, are going to retire to the countryside and make pots?"

"Lots of tourists out there, Daniel. Lots of people looking for homely, yet stylish pieces of rustic charm to fill up their sideboards."

"Charm?" Daniel said suspiciously.

"Charm. Charm-_ing_. That'll be me and my pots. I'll let my beard grow in, stop ironing my clothes, rip the sleeves off my shirts to show 'em my blue-collar muscles."

Daniel started to laugh and laid his head on the same pillow Jack was using.

"I'll build a shack on the side of the road and sell them during the summer season," Jack said, gesturing expansively. "I'm stuck on the name though. Jack's Shack? House O' Pots? O'Neill's Clay-o-torium? You're good with words - help me out!"

Daniel continued laughing, gruff and breathless against Jack's throat, body shaking at the absurdity of the picture Jack painted.

"Yeah, it'll be sweet," Jack said, hugging Daniel close, wrapping his arms tight around him. "I'll even grease the wheel so it doesn't squeak while you're writing."


End file.
